


Onward

by thanksmeatcat



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Language, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-01-16 21:47:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21278234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thanksmeatcat/pseuds/thanksmeatcat
Summary: She wished Jake were here. She tried not to dwell too much on imagining the possibilities of what might have happened, of what would happen when—or if—they reached their destination. She couldn’t grant herself the luxury of imagining him running towards her, exuberant and boyish, full of life. Because she couldn’t bear how much worse it would make it to find at the end of the journey not that happy reunion, but a remorseful friend with the message that he was out there somewhere among the stumbling masses. It was better to imagine nothing, to focus on what was around her, what needed to be done at this particular moment.---------Amy and a group from the Nine-Nine struggle to find their way to their loved ones and to safety in a zombie apocalypse.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I totally meant to have this *done* by Halloween, but here we are…

Amy was drawn from her fitful slumber by the all-too-familiar sound of gunshots.

_Pop. Pop-pop._

She groaned and took a moment to hide her face under the musty blank she was wrapped in. Taking a deep breath, she cast about in her mind for something to ground herself in this moment, this particular day, as opposed to all the others that were beginning to bleed together.

_Where had they stopped this time? _She was losing track. It had been so many days and nights of movement at this point, so many different permutations of mats and blankets strewn on the floor, never seeming to offer quite enough warmth; of rotating lookouts, setting a schedule of who would take what shift, no one speaking aloud the obvious fact that those who didn’t spend the night hours vigilantly watching the surrounding area instead often spent them staring listlessly at the ceiling, or at the shadows playing across the walls.

Finally, the details clicked into place. The small dingy apartment, above the shuttered Chinese restaurant (shuttered in the owner’s haste to flee the oncoming plague, undoubtedly). They had spent the last hours of light rifling through what was left in the store room, wondering how much uncooked rice was worth taking and how much would become a burden to carry. It was one of the more conventional places they had stayed, actually having a full-sized bed and couch so that not all of them had to sleep on the floor. Homes were, for that same reason, preferable to other buildings and structures, but from experience tended to be unreliably safe—many were too big to adequately clear and secure, or too off the beaten path, or too well locked up to get in without making too much noise. The priority was always a clear vantage point to the surrounding area. Anywhere with scavenge-able supplies was an added bonus. But anywhere that too obviously had supplies—so, grocery stores, corner markets, pharmacies, and so on—tended to be either stripped bare or overrun, and were best avoided.

Because of these parameters, they had stopped over in a variety of unusual places. A karate studio tucked down a side street (the matted floors were surprisingly comfortable for sleeping). A fabric store. And, several times, local realtor offices.

Reoriented to the world around her, Amy sat up, reaching back to retie her ponytail as the sound of Boyle’s footsteps reverberated up the metal steps outside the apartment door, any attempt at noiselessness abandoned when he fired the gun.

One thing she still hadn’t gotten used to was how quiet the world was when there were no active electrical grids nearby. And while there may have been a time when she found the silence peaceful or relaxing, such a time was now fully in the past. The absence of the constant low-level hum of electricity was damn near deafening. The silence was not calm, but filled with stagnant fear—filled with the ever-lurking possibility of breaking the silence and inviting death toward you.

Kevin and Raymond, similarly roused by the sudden intrusion of noise, stumbled wearily out of the bedroom, Raymond already busy stuffing a pile of clothing into a duffle bag, as Amy opened the door for Charles. He wasted no time in making straight for his own pile of belongings.

“Sorry, I had to,” he called out, though he didn’t sound so much apologetic as simply out of breath. “Small horde. They showed up out of nowhere…” He paused to zip up his backpack, which he threw over one shoulder before heading toward the kitchenette in the back of the apartment where they had piled up their food supplies. “They somehow broke through the bottom floor of the building, and then a few started coming up the outside stairs—we would’ve been cornered for God knows how long.”

“You made the right call,” Holt offered. “How many…”

“Four. I think I cleared us a path to the van, if we hurry.”

“If they don’t come too fast toward the sound,” Gina added, a little sardonically, appearing in the bedroom doorway, her daughter still fast asleep in her arms. Iggy didn’t stir despite the action around her; and she likely wouldn’t—Gina had taken to giving her Benadryl (the appropriate dose for her age, of course) every night before bed as insurance that the two-year-old would not wake up and make noise when it wasn’t safe.

It felt wrong, but it was what they needed to do to survive what the world had become.

“Was it really four?” Amy asked. “I only counted three.”

“Pretty sure.” Boyle countered with a shrug.

“Better to assume we have fewer bullets and end up with more than the other way around,” Holt added, tossing the duffle bag to Kevin and replacing it in his arms with Cheddar, who had been patiently waiting by his feet.

“So we’ll call that 92 then.” Amy concluded. _92 bullets left. 92 bullets standing between them and death. _She cast a glance around to confirm everyone had what they needed. They did. This routine—leaving at a moment’s notice, having to switch gears from sleep to full alertness as quickly as possible, constantly staying prepared to move on—was an unfortunately familiar one now. And they were nothing if not efficient.

“Who has keys?” She called back, hand on her own gun now as she readied herself to open the door.

“I do,” Kevin responded, keys clinking softly as he held them up in his hand.

She opened the door a crack, the sound of the moaning mass of bodies below now reaching her ears. Carefully, quietly, she nudged the door all the way open and reached down to grab the glass jar full of rocks that they had left by the door step.

Taking a deep breath, she hefted the jar as far in the opposite direction from the car as she could. At the sound of it shattering, the crowd below shifted, increasing its pitch as it collectively stumbled toward the noise.

Their window was open. Amy waved back to the others, and they made a break for the van.

* * *

_“I have a place upstate in the mountains. Near Utica.”_

_Rosa’s gruff proclamation had come at a turning point in the crisis, when for the first time it seemed that maybe the isolated events, the whispers and rumors and stories that had been circulating for almost a month, were part of something bigger, something inevitable. _

_“Of _course _you do,” Jake had responded with a humorless chuckle. The squad was feeling the strain of managing a crisis they didn’t understand. And everyday, fewer and fewer people showed up at the precinct._

_Rosa shrugged. “It might be time to start thinking about where is safe.”_

_Most of the squad still felt a strong sense of duty to the city and were remiss to abandon it. But a couple of days later, there was a barely-contained outbreak in midtown. Terry announced that he and Sharon, along with her brother, were setting out with the kids to join family in Michigan. He was apologetic, but Holt wouldn’t hear it._

_“Do what you have to for your family. Be safe, Sergeant Jeffords. Do stay in touch.”_

_They all grew worried for their family members, debating whether it was time to evacuate, not sure what was warranted in this unprecedented situation. Still on the fence about what to do, Charles and Rosa decided to take an intermediate step and escort Genevieve, Nikolaj, and Jake’s mom, along with all the supplies they could stuff in the car, up to the cabin. They returned the next day, reporting that the roads were chaotic but still passable, for now._

_Jake was relieved that his mother was safe and seemed willing to maintain their post in Brooklyn as long as possible. “As long as we’re together,” he’d said, face open and sincere in a way it only was when he spoke to Amy._

_Her own parents had asked her to come with them and several of her brothers to her eldest brother’s home in Ohio._

_“I can’t leave Jake,” she protested. “I promise we’ll stay safe.”_

_“Okay, _mija,_” her mother had eventually relented. “We’ll call and check in on Saturday.”_

_Saturday was only four days away. But by the end of the third day, the phone lines had gone down for good._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning: chapters are going to balloon in length as the story goes along, since I have no chill.


	2. Chapter 2

“Dammit,” Amy hissed under her breath, resting her head on the steering wheel in an attempt to stave off the panic swelling up inside her. They should have known that the van would give out soon, that its gas tank would finally run dry and that they would likely not be able to find more to replace it. This wasn’t the first salvaged vehicle to crap out on them, and though it would certainly be desirable for them to find a vehicle to siphon off gas from, they knew from experience it was unlikely. Most of the cars with gas were on clogged interstates, interstates they studiously avoided because they had become graveyards writhing with the ill-fated people who took to the road too late to escape the oncoming destruction but too early to have fully grasped the measures needed for survival.

They were going to have to go on foot again, until they hit the next place to stay or the next vehicle that was both big enough to hold them all and operable.

It had worked out so far, but there was always the lurking terror that maybe, this time, their luck would run out.

She wished Jake were here. She tried not to dwell too much on imagining the possibilities of what might have happened, of what would happen when—or if—they reached their destination. She couldn’t grant herself the luxury of imagining him running towards her, exuberant and boyish, full of life. Because she couldn’t bear how much worse it would make it to find at the end of the journey not that happy reunion, but a remorseful friend with the message that he was out there somewhere among the stumbling masses. It was better to imagine nothing, to focus on what was around her, what needed to be done at this particular moment.

But she missed him.

Kevin was sitting in the passenger’s seat next to her, their one, precious map unfolded across his lap and the dashboard as he filled in their progress from the day with a red marker, the line now stretching approximately 80% of the way from Brooklyn to the southern foothills of the mountains where Rosa’s cabin resided.

It probably shouldn’t have surprised her that Kevin was an adroit map-reader and navigator. It fit in well with what she had already known of him. But she had been genuinely surprised to learn, at the start of this all, that this particular skill was owed to Kevin’s many, many years as a boy scout, and came packaged with a startling array of other skills and tidbits of knowledge that made Kevin uniquely suited to safely start fires or lash supplies together with careful knot-work.

(The first time Kevin had displayed the latter ability, Gina had waggled her eyebrows and elbowed Amy lightly, conspiratorially, in the ribs.

“I see why you keep him around, Captain.”

Holt had pointedly avoided eye contact. Charles had choked on his trail mix and nearly turned purple trying to suppress his coughing and laughter, a little bit to avoid making too much noise, but mostly out of fear of Holt’s wrath.)

“Hmm,” Kevin traced a path with his finger. “There is a small town about 8 miles southwest of here.”

Gina let out a loud groan from the back seat. “That’s the wrong direction.” Iggy was sleeping in the far back of the van, and without her phone to fiddle with, Gina’s hands twitched in her lap with pent up energy and boredom.

“Yes,” Holt agreed stoically. “Kevin, dear, is there no way to avoid this?”

Kevin turned around and gave his husband a tense, sober smile. He reached out and patted Cheddar, who was curled up in Holt’s lap. Holt had a tight grip on the dog’s collar, his knuckles pale.

Amy knew that Holt was nervous, as always, to go out into the world with Cheddar. A less well-trained dog would have fallen victim to the horde weeks ago, or would have been a major liability to the group. But Cheddar never barked when he wasn’t supposed to, never strayed from Kevin or Holt’s heels when they were on the move, always stayed or went where he was told. But Amy had glimpsed something resembling regret in the way Holt gazed at the dog sometimes. And she had once heard him and Kevin bicker quietly about it—and though she couldn’t hear exactly what they said, her impression was that they both worried that keeping Cheddar around would ultimately prove to be more cruel than had they taken more drastic measures before, when humane options had still been available.

“The closest option in the right direction is closer to 19 miles away. We would never get there by nightfall.”

Charles chimed in. “That _does _feel risky. Plus it’s cold out there today.”

Prompted by Boyle’s proclamation, Amy drew her sleeves up to cover her cold fingers. They had all done their best to bring their best, warmest clothes (wool, cotton kills), but it was unusually damp for early December, and the cold penetrated to their bones. 

It didn’t help that they were all slightly underfed at this point—the one exception being Iggy, who was always the first priority when it came to allocating food supplies. A low level of hunger had become a constant companion, and Amy could feel already that her clothes were fitting differently than they had before.

“As long as we find another suitable vehicle I am confident we can make up the lost mileage tomorrow. I have a path in mind.”

Charles leaned over to get a look at the sky. “Well we’d better get going. We’re burning daylight.”

Amy dumped the rest of the bag of peanuts she’d been picking at since breakfast in her mouth, crumpled up the bag, and stuffed it in the cupholder. Holt reattached Cheddar’s leash to his collar while Charles helped Gina get Iggy wrapped up in a blanket and settled in the baby carrier she had strapped to her chest. Kevin meticulously folded the map back up and tucked it away in his backpack.

Then they all stilled once more and sat there in silence.

Kevin sighed deeply and opened his door.

“Onward,” he muttered. The others followed.

* * *

_The day after Amy’s parents left, the power started flashing and surging at least once every four or five hours. Morale among the team was at an all-time low. Hitchcock and Scully hadn’t shown up at the precinct for days. Amy hoped it was cowardice, or hell, maybe better judgment than the rest, that kept them away, not something else._

_City-wide evacuation efforts were fully under way, and when the military arrived to take over a day later, it seemed the time had about come for the members of the 99 who had remained to make moves towards leaving as well._

_Phone service was growing increasingly patchy, and this made leaving all the more complicated. It was how Jake, Amy, Rosa, and Charles found themselves at an impasse, banging on the door to Gina’s apartment, receiving no response._

_Rosa had eventually let out an exasperated, “Screw this!” and kicked in the door. Gina and Iggy were nowhere to be found, though judging by the things that were and weren’t strewn across the apartment, it seemed the Gina had taken with her a bunch of her and Iggy’s things._

_Jake kicked the wall with frustration. “Dammit! What are we going to do now? We can’t leave without them.”_

_Amy worriedly ran her fingers through her hair, fingers twitching to braid the strands, to grasp hold of some semblance of order._

_“Keep trying to call? Maybe we’ll manage to catch her while the phones are working,” Charles offered. Even he didn’t sound like he believed himself._

_Rosa tapped the countertop she was leaning on with her fingers, her face revealing a barrage of different emotions as she thought it through. “I don’t like it. We need to get going ASAP.”_

_“But we still need to get your parents. And we don’t even begin to know where to look for Gina. That could take a lot of time.” It was rare that Amy heard Jake sound quite so stressed. But when the stakes involved not knowing about the well-being his best childhood friend and imminent danger to his wife, his boyish breeziness receded and what was left was a man who desperately wanted to make sure everyone else was okay, whatever the cost._

_Still, what he had said next hurt. “I think we have to split up.”_

_Charles and Amy had immediately protested, talking over one another, their words layering into panicked incoherence._

_Rosa just shook her head sadly. “Tactically… I think it’s the only way to go.”_

_It would go like this: two of them would search for Gina and Iggy. The other two would go fetch Rosa’s parents from where they had arranged to meet her right on the other side of the Brooklyn Bridge. They would plan to meet Holt and Kevin at their house, spend the night, and then leave for Rosa’s cabin first thing in the morning._

_Amy hadn’t liked it, but she understood why it was necessary. But then the real kicker had come._

_It was Charles who brought it up. “What if something happens?” Jake opened his mouth, probably to make some weak assurance that nothing would happen, but Charles had continued. “What if we find the people we need to find but then can’t get back to each other, or to Holt’s. Do we keep trying, or is there a point where we say we head towards Rosa’s and hope for the best?”_

_Two days, they had decided. If after two days, they hadn’t managed to meet back up at Holt’s then both parties were to leave anyway and make the cabin the meeting point._

_Amy’s heart had been sinking over the course of the conversation, but here, as the final piece of the puzzle clicked into place in her head, it hit rock bottom._

_She had spoken in barely a whisper, her grip tight on Jake’s hand in hers. “How are we going to find the cabin if we’ve never been there? You said it was really secluded.”_

_The terrible, terrible answer:_

_“Well, Charles has been there too. He’s seen all the back roads.”_

_Then:_

_“So if I go to find my parents, Charles has to go for Gina, so that both groups could find it no matter what.”_

_As formidable as Rosa was, there was no world in which it would be acceptable to let anyone go out alone._

_Jake and Amy would have to separate._

_Jake had tried his best to put on a brave face. “That’s all totally hypothetical though. It won’t be a problem. Just a few hours, then we’ll all go to the mountains together.”_

_There was no protesting the separation, but Amy had tried to convince Jake to stay with Charles and let her go with Rosa._

_Jake wouldn’t have it._

_He had pulled her aside. “Look, babe, I know you’re a total badass, and you can totally handle yourself but please, _please, _let me be the one to go with Rosa. Manhattan is a mess. I couldn’t focus if I knew you were there.” And it might have been sweet, if it weren’t for the fact that Jake’s choice meant that _he _would be the one potentially walking into hell on earth._

_Their parting of ways had been fraught and sad, but also oddly anticlimactic. Jake and Rosa simply took a left out of the building, and Charles and Amy went right. Amy had tried her best to resist watching them until they were out of sight, wary that a backwards glance might make him disappear forever._

_The rest of the afternoon turned up dead end after dead end. With the sun almost disappeared over the horizon, Amy and Charles had trudged up to Kevin and Holt’s front door. They had been stunned when the door was opened by none other than Gina herself._

_“Oh, you’re here, thank god,” Charles had exclaimed, throwing himself into Gina’s arms._

_For once she didn’t protest his affection or make fun of him, and had simply explained as she returned the hug, “Things looked bad. I figured I needed to find the old squad. Thought I’d start here.”_

_The Captain had approached from the interior of the house, Iggy in his arms. His brow furrowed when he saw who had—and hadn’t—arrived. _

_“Where are Peralta and Diaz?”_

_Amy explained what had happened. “So… I guess we just were a bit faster than them?” she had finished, trying desperately to believe herself._

_Holt had given her a kind smile and a reassuring pat on the back. “I’m sure they’ll be here soon.” _

_But the night dragged on and they didn’t show. Eventually Kevin had come downstairs to check on Amy, who had posted up by a window in the living room, and made up the couch for her to sleep on._

_They didn’t show the next day either, and by that point the phone line’s had given up the ghost for good. And then that evening, right as twilight was falling, the lights went out. _

_They had all stepped out onto the front stoop and looked out into the darkness. The silhouette of Manhattan was barely visible against the fading light of the sky._

_Unable to sleep, Amy had laid awake for hours and hours until, with a jolt, she suddenly realized that there was a glow spreading across the ceiling from the window. It didn’t make sense though—the electricity hadn’t come back on. She had sat up and drawn back the curtain, to make sense of what she was seeing. It was easy to locate the light source._

_Manhattan was on fire._


	3. Chapter 3

The best they were able to manage was a grey pickup truck that was probably at least twenty years old. It was less than ideal. The cabin, which housed a single bench seat, really only fit three adults comfortably, especially if they prioritized having the dog and the toddler out of the elements.

But they had figured out how to make it work, in large part thanks to Gina’s casual observation that they could turn it into a “glamping situation” with all the blankets they had found in house where they had spent the night. So they lined the bed of the truck with the blankets, the fluffy, down comforter on the bottom and the warmer fleece and flannel throws on top. They unearthed a slightly dirty-looking blue tarp from the back of the garage, as well as some bungie cords and ropes, and, with the help of Kevin’s expert knot-work, lashed it over the truck bed to keep the blankets and the rest of their supplies dry and protected. They could sit with their backs leaning against the main cabin, tarp drawn up to their waists, in relative comfort. And if it started to rain, they could always slide down, pull the tarp all the way up, and spend the ride laying down, a little stuffy, but shielded from the rain.

“Like sardines,” Holt had commented when they had worked out the system. 

“Hopefully it won’t be for too long,” Charles offered as he climbed into the back and slid partway under the tarp. “Plus, it’s just a chance for some team snuggles.” 

“Alright, no,” Gina said, pausing where she had started following Boyle into the truck bed. “I’m not getting back there if you’re going to talk like that. Someone else do it.” 

Amy rolled her eyes. Kevin glanced away toward the ground, failing to hide a small smile.

“I will get in the back with Detective Boyle,” Holt offered, planting one foot on the back wheel and hoisting himself up. He settled next to Charles, back ramrod straight against the cabin. 

Kevin reached over and grasped Raymond’s hand. It was sweet; Amy had noticed that their usual reluctance to engage in PDA was progressively waning. Perhaps it was their increased comfort level with the others after weeks of their constant presence. Or perhaps it was because their normal concepts of decorum seemed exceedingly trivial in a world that was falling apart.

“My dear, if you are riding in the back, I am happy to do so as well,” Kevin said.

Holt shook his head. “No, sit up front with Cheddar. He will appreciate the familiar company.”

Kevin still lingered, not letting go of Raymond’s hand. The Captain seemed to catch on to the source of his husband’s hesitation. “Ah… we could open the window to the cabin a crack. That way we can communicate whenever we wish.”

Kevin nodded his consent, then gave Raymond a light kiss. For any other couple, it would have been incredibly chaste; for them, it held so much more.

Gina let out a low whistle. “Who knew the end times would have people so horny.” Amy elbowed her hard in the ribs; but she knew none of them really minded.

They all had their coping mechanisms.

They made good progress for the first two-thirds of the day. The roads were, blessedly, clear of both stalled out cars and undead wanderers. As the sun began to make its slow descent towards the horizon, their attention turned to finding shelter for the evening. Amy always wondered if they should push a little further before looking—they tended to be pretty conservative when it came for allotting time to search houses and other structures. It was only just 3:30 in the afternoon. Often if they found success quickly, a few of the squad would rummage the surrounding area for supplies. But sometimes it took them that long—from mid afternoon to dusk—to find a place to stay.

This time looked like it might shape up to be the former situation. Amy was tired and had little enthusiasm for spending the rest of their daylight making a sweep of the small town they had found themselves in. But they were starting to run low on food again, and they were down to eight gallon jugs of water. So it was probably for the best.

They found what looked to be an ideal spot—a garage workshop on the edge of a larger property, its doors wide open but by all appearances operational. One half of the workshop was largely blocked from their view by a tall, metal shelving unit that was filled with tools and scraps of metal. Beyond it seemed to lay a workspace. The other half was largely empty, save a riding lawnmower in the back corner that appeared to have been under repair at the time the property was abandoned.

It hardly looked cozy, but once they secured it, they could back the truck in and sleep in its bed and cabin.

“If we continue to make good progress like today, we shall be there by this week’s end.” Kevin announced approvingly as he climbed out of the passenger’s side of the car, Gina close behind him.

Boyle and Gina shared a bemused glance before Gina cut in. “Which would be _when _exactly? Not exactly keeping my calendar updated these days.”

“Why, it is clearly Wednesday today.” Raymond answered as he began to distribute the necessary supplies from the back of the truck. Kevin nodded along as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Then just say—“ Gina paused to accept the ax Holt handed her. “Three days. No one but you two nerds knows what day it is. Even super dork over here has lost track I bet.”

Amy gave them all a sheepish smile, all the while keeping her eyes trained on the building in front of them, one hand on her holster. “Guess I’m just lost without my binders.”

The banter was sincere. But its lightheartedness was a ruse, a game they all collectively played to mask the tension that always built up before they started the terrifying process of checking and clearing a building.

Gina reached through the half-opened window of the cabin to hand Iggy half a cereal bar to keep her entertained until they knew it would be safe to get her and Cheddar out. “Don’t let Cheddar steal any,” she cautioned the oblivious toddler.

“We ready?” Charles asked, checking the clip in his gun. Amy and Holt drew their own out as well. They fell into something of a formation: Charles and Holt in front, Gina and Kevin following, with Amy posting up right at the edge of the doorway, gun trained outward at the wooded area from which the road to the property emerged.

There weren’t all that many spaces to check, just a few dark corners and one shut door to what was probably an extra storage space on the back wall by the beat-up lawnmower.

“Clear,” Charles called out.

“Clear,” Holt’s voice echoed from another part of the garage.

Amy felt some of the tension leave her body as she heard the others relax into more casual chatter. She spared a quick glance back: Kevin and Gina were obscured from her view by the tall shelf, and by the sound of it, they had turned their attention to searching for useful items.

“Hey Kev, wanna upgrade that lame baseball bat for this sick crowbar?” she heard Gina ask. Kevin mused in response, “Not a bad idea.”

“Hey Amy?” Charles called out. She turned her attention to where he and Holt stood next to the still unopened door. “Think it’s worth opening this?” He pointed to the door with his gun.

Amy scrunched up her nose. “Feels risky. But also I think we all might sleep better knowing there’s nothing on the other side.”

“Alright,” Holt declared, backing up a few steps and then training his gun on the door. “Kevin, Gina, stay where you are for a moment, please.”

“Ready?” Charles asked. Holt nodded, and Amy turned back to check their surroundings once more time.

To her horror, three figures were ambling toward them from the direction of the woods, already less than fifty yards away. “Shit!” Amy cried out, the very moment Charles turned the door handle, which let out a shockingly loud, rusty squeal.

Charles paused and turned, confused, toward Amy’s exclamation. “Huh?”

That was all the time it took. With a loud thud, a zombie came crashing out of the now unlatched door, knocking the unsuspecting Charles over as several others pushed to make their way out of their imprisonment.

Holt’s reaction was instantaneous. Before Amy could even process the sudden turn of events, he put a bullet through the first creature’s head and threw his weight against the door to hold back the others. Amy spared a glance back at the others that had been approaching the truck. They were now moving faster, drawn by the sound of the gunshot.

“Santiago, help!” Holt yelled as he struggled to hold the door and avoid the grasping hands that were reaching out, preventing it from being shut. With a groan of frustration, she hurried over and added her own weight.

“Charles! Get up!” she cried. “There are others.” Charles was scrambling around on the ground, ducking his head to look under the lawnmower.

“Boyle, you idiot, what are you doing?!” Gina yelled from where she and Kevin were hiding behind the shelf.

“My gun… I don’t know where it went!” 

“Forget it! Switch places with me!” Amy ordered. Charles relented and took Amy’s spot. She ran back to the entrance of the garage, and toward the approaching creatures.

As she prepared to take aim, the sharp sound of barking cut through her concentration. Another three creatures had materialized, seemingly out of nowhere, and were fast approaching the open window of the truck. Amy couldn’t make a clear shot—the truck was between her and them, and Kevin and Gina were somewhere on the other side, in danger of catching a stray bullet. Once more she abandoned the original three wanderers, now sprinting back to intercept the others.

But she wasn’t the only one who had caught notice. Kevin and Gina were calling out from behind the shelf to draw the creatures’ attention away from Cheddar’s hapless attempts at defense. They didn’t seem to care, until Kevin began to sharply strike the shelf with his newly obtained crowbar. The resulting, bell-like sound did the trick, and the creatures threw themselves at the source of the sound.

For a brief moment, it seemed like the immediate danger had been resolved, that they had bought Amy the time to deal with the approaching threat while the others were distracted. But then, with a low groan, the combined weight of the struggling creatures pressed up against the shelf proved to be more than the structure could handle, and almost in slow motion, the whole thing began to fall.

At the very last moment, Kevin managed to shove Gina out of the way. And it looked like maybe, maybe he would get clear too, but as the whole thing came tumbling down, it caught one of his legs, and with a cry, he went down with it.

“Kevin!” Holt bellowed out, for a moment releasing some of the pressure on the door, allowing one of the creatures to get a leg out, threatening a total loss of containment.

“Captain, no!” Charles cried in warning.

Kevin was struggling to get up, but his lower half was pinned by the pile of metal and shelving. Gina made to come toward him, but he waved her off, glancing behind himself to check that the three creatures were equally tangled up in the mess. “Help them with the door!” She nodded, and ran to assist Holt and Boyle as Kevin continued his efforts to extricate himself from the wreckage.

There was no more time to put off taking care of the other zombies that were now mere feet from the truck. It took little time for Amy to put a bullet in each of their skulls. Even under immense pressure, she was a crackshot. But when she turned around, the situation had taken a further downward turn.

Two of the creatures were still entangled in the shelves, but one had worked its way out. Kevin, who had managed to pull himself almost all the way free, was pinned on his back by the weight of the snarling zombie; the only thing between him and its ravenous hunger was his crowbar jammed up under its chin, keeping its grasping hands mere inches away from his face.

“Raymond…” he gasped out, voice choked in panic.

Amy crossed the distance in a heartbeat, grabbing the creature by the bloodied collar of its shirt and pulling it off Kevin at the same time that she pressed her gun to its head and pulled the trigger. She shoved the body off to the side.

(It had been a child, Amy noted, feeling disconnected from the horror of this information. Had it not been, Kevin likely wouldn’t have been able to hold it off for as long as he did.)

She quickly dispatched the other two creatures before they could do anything else and then returned her attention to Kevin, who had collapsed back onto the ground, eyes closed and chest heaving, one hand still tightly gripping the crowbar. She knelt by his side, expecting his breathing to level out as the panic dissipated, but instead his face scrunched up and he reached down with his free hand to grasp the back of his left thigh.

The sound of two more gunshots resonated through the garage, followed by a thud and several cries of triumph. It was clear that the others had finally gotten the remaining threat contained behind the door. But Amy couldn’t be bothered to look as her eyes landed instead on the puddle of blood that was steadily growing beneath Kevin’s leg.

The heavy silence that had fallen after the last gunshot was broken by Kevin’s pained gasp as Amy reached for his leg, desperate to get a better look at it. “Ah… no…” he moaned, starting to curl in on himself as the adrenaline from the struggle faded, pain swiftly taking its place.

Amy tried her best to gently pry his hand away. “You have to let me look at it, Kevin,” she pleaded.

“My god.” Holt had just gotten close enough to catch sight of the glistening pool of crimson on the ground. His next question was barely audible. “Was he bitten?”

Before Amy could assess the situation, Kevin shook his head, and explained, voice quavering and punctuated by sharp breaths, “Something snagged my leg and I had to… that thing was coming at me so I just…yanked it out…”

Amy finally got an angle on the wound as Raymond dropped to his knees and gently guided Kevin onto his right side. It stretched from about six inches above the back of his knee down to mid-calf. The top of the wound was deep and jagged, clearly where something had impaled his leg when the shelves came down on him; it grew progressively more shallow as it moved down his leg, tapering off at the end to little more than a bad scrape.

Amy yanked off her sweatshirt and pressed it firmly against the top of the wound, where the blood continued to ooze out. Kevin let out a small whine in protest. “Sorry, I have to,” Amy muttered. Gina wordlessly deposited the bag holding their meager store of medical supplies, before hurrying back to attend to the wailing toddler in the truck.

Charles spared them a quick, concerned glance, but remained posted atop the truck bed, cautiously watching their surroundings.

Amy and Holt worked quickly, all too aware of their need to move away from all the sound they had just made as soon as possible. They did the best they could, but it was all guesswork. In an ideal world, Kevin would be treated in a sterile environment and receive stitches to stop the bleeding. Instead, they had a dirty garage floor, some clean-ish rags, and three quarters of a bottle of rubbing alcohol that caused tears to accumulate in the corner of Kevin’s eyes when they applied it, after having staunched most of the bleeding and flushed the wound with half a gallon of their precious water. They wrapped the leg as tightly as possible, replaced the ruined pants they’d had to cut off of him with a baggy pair of grey sweatpants Kevin normally wouldn’t have been caught dead in, and prepared to move him to the truck.

As they stood up, almost all of Kevin’s weight on their shoulders, his face drained of much of its remaining color and he sagged noticeably.

“Okay?” Holt asked, voice laced with concern.

Kevin swallowed heavily and grimaced. “Feel lightheaded.”

Amy glanced at the large red stain he had left behind. “That’s a lot of blood,” she commented, before catching herself. “I mean, I think you’ll be okay, but you probably need some rest and hydration.” 

They got him to the truck, but then realized that there was no way he would be able to fit comfortably in the cabin—with all the bandaging, he couldn’t bend his leg, and there would be no way to elevate it. So they settled him in the back, piling blankets under and over him. Holt climbed in next to him, refusing to let go of his hand.

“Do you want me back here too?” Amy offered as Charles cranked the engine.

He shook his head. “We will be okay.”

They tried to put as many miles as possible between them and their ill-fated pitstop. But as the sky dimmed, the air began to grow increasingly crisp and damp. Between the lack of warm sunlight and the bumpy ride that was part and parcel of navigating the back roads that were the only options for safe passage, it soon became clear that they would need to stop again soon. Kevin remained courageously silent, not wont to complain, but Amy could see even from her limited vantage point up front that he was shivering, that every jolt and lurch was reflected in his stricken expression.

They found a small shotgun-style house on the outskirts of the next town over, really not much more than a double-wide. Amy, Charles, and Holt left Gina with one of the guns, to watch over Kevin and the truck; this time, when they cleared the building, they did so in total silence.

There wasn’t much inside—it was dark and a little musty, and there was only one twin-sized bed tucked in the back corner of one of the two rooms. The other room featured a grody kitchenette, a remarkably uncomfortable love seat, and—in an unbelievable display of good fortune—a fireplace.

Kevin nearly passed out again when Charles and Holt lifted him upright, but after some struggle, they managed to maneuver him to the bed. Cheddar leapt up and settled right next to him, head on his shoulder, seemingly daring the humans to challenge his right to comfort his owner. 

Gina took the first watch. Charles fell asleep almost immediately, and as Amy succumbed to her own exhaustion, the last thing she saw was Holt settling on the floor next to the bed, clinging to Kevin’s hand as his husband slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flashbacks will be in separate chapters from here on out to keep chapter length reasonable.


	4. Chapter 4

_Amy had begged the others to wait an extra day before doing anything. Maybe Jake and Rosa just needed a little extra time because of whatever happened in Manhattan. Maybe they would show up soon, late but no worse for the wear._

_And they had indulged her. The third day of waiting had brought nothing but a bored hopelessness which then transformed into terror as nightfall introduced them to their first horde._

_It was the living dead, as far as the eye could see. A solid wall of literal thousands of rotting bodies had come through like a wave, swarming over anyone or anything that made any noise or movement. The occupants of the Holt-Cozner household spent four terrified hours hiding upstairs, listening as doors and windows of nearby houses and cars failed under the combined pressure, as fellow humans found themselves no longer with protection and were overcome by the crowd._

_“We need to get out of here.” Holt had declared afterwards. “The population in this area is… was far too dense. It will never be safe.”_

_The others had all agreed, although going out into that world hardly felt much safer than just hoping for good odds if another horde came through. But if they could get there, the cabin would offer them a safe place to live, an actual shot at survival._

_Amy had still felt unsure about the whole thing, had wanted to think of other options._

_(Maybe it was that the immensity of the horde had so baldly disclosed the reality of what was happening out there, of what Rosa and Jake might be facing. Maybe it was that she distrusted the promise of the cabin. Or maybe it was that she felt more like she could expect Jake to arrive at somewhere familiar, rather than face the possibility of making the journey without him.)_

_“What other options?” Charles had asked, eyes begging Amy to come up with something he himself had failed to think of. “We can’t stay here.”_

_“We have to go find them… go help them. We have to do something,” Amy had argued, knowing even as she did that she was wrong._

_Holt had been stern in his response. “Detective, we cannot walk into that level of danger. We have civilians with us, and it would be foolish.” He paused, voice softening some. “The arrangement was to meet at Rosa’s cabin. Given that we have no means by which to alter that arrangement with the knowledge of our friends, we will honor it and assume that Peralta and Diaz will as well.”_

_Amy had sat and cried in the dark study while the others finished packing their supplies. (Even with her heart not in the plan, she was still by far the most organized of them all.)_

_The creak of a floorboard had announced Kevin’s presence in the doorway. She wiped her eyes and turned to him._

_“Do you need help with anything?” she asked._

_Kevin had shaken his head, before coming in and sitting across from Amy. “I simply wanted to check on you. I cannot imagine how scared you must feel. If I were separated from my Raymond…” He trailed off for a moment._

_“I do not claim to know your husband all that well. But the time we spent together in the safe house did teach me two things about him. First, that he is one of the most hardheaded, stubborn people I have ever met. He does not take no for an answer if it is not the answer he wants and thus”—Kevin pointed to himself—“I have now watched about ten more Nicholas Cage movies that I ever intended to.” Amy had chuckled, unable to help but imagine Jake wearing on Kevin day after day until finally breaking him down._

_“The point is, he sees things through. And the second thing I know about him is that he will do absolutely anything for you. If you’ll excuse the double negative, he is never not thinking about you.”_

_Kevin had reached for her hand, giving it a small squeeze. “Wherever he is, he is doing everything in his power to get to that cabin. Because he is stubborn and he wants to find you.” He offered her a kind smile. “He will see this through, for you.”_

_Nothing Kevin—or anyone—could say would make her okay with the not-knowing, with having to go out without Jake. But Kevin had reminded her that the people she was with were the right people, that they cared for her, for Jake, for Rosa, for each other, in a way that they would need for the long road ahead._

_She had pulled herself together, helped finish the packing, and strategized with Kevin and Charles about the route they would take._

_And then they set out._


	5. Chapter 5

It had taken them nine harrowing days to clear the city, to cover what was well less than a quarter of the total distance between where they started and where they were headed. And now, finally, they had come so close, mere days from the promise (perhaps false, but Amy tried her best to ignore the thought) of safety, stability, and reunion.

But their progress had ground to a total halt.

It was obvious to all of them that they would need to lay low for a day or so—though hopefully no more than a day—to give Kevin a chance the rest and recover some. The rest was good for all of them anyway, and they spent the day either napping or doing things around their temporary home. Charles went out and gathered a bunch of wood to get a fire started—really, an unnecessary amount of wood, but when Amy commented on it he just shrugged and said it was something to do. Gina found a couple of markers in one of the kitchen drawers and helped Iggy color on the wall. Amy took stock of their supplies, noting with a sinking feeling that they had fewer than three dozen bullets left among the three guns.

Holt spent the day forcing Kevin to drink and eat as much as possible, to Kevin’s growing ire. But by the end of the day, he had perked back up a bit, and they all went to bed that night with the hopes that they would be able to move on in the morning.

The next morning, most of them rose early on instinct; but Kevin continued to sleep.

“His body needs the rest, we can wait until he wakes up,” Amy wagered, though she was feeling just as antsy to get going as the others were.

It was nearly midday by the time Kevin stirred, and when he finally rose and hobbled out into the main room of the house, he seemed oddly groggy and sluggish.

Gina’s eyes narrowed as she took in his appearance. “Okay there, Kev?”

He dropped onto the vacant loveseat with a groan and ran a hand over his face. “Yes, um… I believe I just need some breakfast.”

“Here.” Charles produced a peanut butter sandwich from the bag of food he’d been packing. Kevin took it and slowly began to nibble at the corners of the sandwich.

Holt watched him like a hawk from across the room, finally asking, “Are you feeling alright today, dear?” Kevin didn’t answer, just shrugged and kept chewing. Holt looked displeased with the non-answer, but he didn’t push it. But neither did he divert his attention away.

Not five minutes later, Kevin’s face caught an unmistakable greenish hue, and Charles just barely managed to find a bucket under the sink and thrust it into Kevin’s lap before he threw back up his meager breakfast.

“Oof,” Gina observed, setting aside her own sandwich in vicarious disgust.

“You’re warm,” Holt commented, cupping Kevin’s face in his hands before offering him a drink of water. “Just a little, take it easy.” He turned to Amy and the others. “I think he’s running a fever.”

Amy felt Kevin’s forehead with the back of her hand, confirming Holt’s suspicion. “Yeah… yeah I think you are, Kev. Let’s get you back to bed. No reason to be up if you’re not feeling well.”

Kevin offered no protest as they settled him back in the bed, bucket nearby just in case, but as Holt drew the covers up, he spoke up, voice full of barely concealed fear. “Is it possible… do you think that I…”

Amy shook her head. “You weren’t bit. And if it had been that, you would’ve gotten sick way faster.”

Holt agreed. “Yes, I think it is most likely the case that your wound has grown infected.”

Relaxing a little but sounding no less miserable, Kevin merely responded, “Oh.”

“We should change the dressing on it…clean it again. Right?” Amy asked. They were totally in over their heads. Not for the first time, Amy wished Rosa was with them. A handful of years ago Rosa had disappeared from the precinct without comment, only to turn back up several weeks later with a certification in wilderness first aid in her hand. She would’ve known what to do.

They tried to make do, this time even more careful than before. They boiled some water, sanitized everything they were using, washed some scraps of cloth in anticipation for the next time and hung them to dry in front of the fire. The wound itself looked okay, as far as they could tell. The deeper part sluggishly oozed blood as they handled Kevin’s leg, and the area appeared a little redder and more inflamed than before, though not horribly so. Kevin kept a tight grip on his pillow as they worked, gritting his teeth as they flushed the wound again.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Amy muttered as she worked. It was an ordeal, and by the time they finished, Kevin was pale and exhausted once more.

As the day dragged on, Kevin grew worse, not better. He couldn’t keep anything down except for slow, measured sips of water. He cycled between overheated restlessness and intense chills; eventually the latter got so bad that they had to drag his mattress out by the fireplace in order to give him some relief from his shivering.

The next day the universe dealt them a further cruel blow. Amy awoke when it was barely light outside to the sound of heavy rain pounding on the thin roof. If they had any notion of maybe making a Hail Mary run toward Rosa’s cabin, those hopes were dashed. Kevin, still burning with fever and unable to hold himself in any suitable position to fit in the truck, was in no condition to tolerate the bad weather. They would have to stay put, at least until the weather cleared; but it was showing absolutely no sign of doing so anytime soon. And with the increased dampness came a brutal drop in temperature, so that they all spent the better part of the day huddled near the fire place.

And then came the alarming moment after they had all finished their meager dinner, when Kevin woke up disoriented and completely terrified, unable to place or recognize his surroundings. “Where… what…?” His shaking fingers grasped weakly at the beanie Gina had planted on his head, before he gave that up and grabbed instead for his injured leg. Amy caught his arm before he could do anything; it took almost no effort to hold him back.

Holt tried his best to soothe his husband. “Kevin, it is okay. I am right here.” Kevin turned toward his voice, his face ashen apart from the bright flush on his cheekbones. His breath calmed noticeably at his husband’s voice, but when his eyes landed on Raymond’s face, they lacked any spark of recognition.

Holt noticed, and added with some trepidation. “This is Captain Raymond Holt. Your husband. You are sick, but we are taking care of you.”

“Let’s sit him up and see if we can get him to drink something,” Amy offered gently. Together they propped him up and Holt slid in behind him, so that Kevin was leaning on his chest. The water seemed to calm him down some; when Holt added a damp cloth to his forehead, he sagged further and soon fell back asleep.

Amy cast a forlorn glance back at Gina and Charles; they had moved closer together, shoulders touching, wordlessly holding each other’s hand.

“Fuck,” Gina muttered, before pulling Iggy tighter against her and then burying her face in the toddler’s hair.

When the sun arose once more and barely managed to cut through the grayness and seemingly endless rain, Amy and Charles had no choice but to go out; the rain had solved their water shortage for the moment, but they needed food.

They did decently, finding enough food to fill up one of the backpacks, as well as a couple dusty but unopened bottles of gatorade. On their way back, they happened upon another group of travelers, made up of two young women, a sixty-something looking man, and a teenage boy. Charles and Amy spent a solid fifteen minutes talking with them.

Contrary to the expectations set by popular culture, the apocalypse hadn’t immediately transformed the world into a lawless wasteland, an instant “us vs. them” attitude among the remaining humans. They had met everyone they encountered along the way with a certain wariness, sure, but in general other people were opportunities to share and receive information. In this case, the encounter was fortuitous; when Amy mentioned Kevin’s plight, one of the women produced a container of ibuprofen and offered for them to take half of it. Charles couldn’t stop babbling his thanks, and as they parted ways, the tight smiles of the other group seemed to betray their lack of hope that the situation would turn out for the best.

The medicine didn’t stop the fever, but it seemed to make cleaning the wound less excruciating. And lowering his temperature some allowed Kevin the opportunity to rest more comfortably, which they hoped would give his body the energy it needed to fight off whatever infection had taken hold of him.

But it was all taking too much time. Kevin wasn’t showing any real signs of improving anytime soon, and they all feared he could take a turn for the worse at any moment. The next morning there was a reckoning, where they all expressed a felt need to make their next move, but failed to agree how or whereto.

It didn’t help that they were all exhausted. Holt had fallen asleep by Kevin’s side and missed a dose of ibuprofen, resulting in Kevin waking up in the dead of night from a fever dream, convinced he had been bitten, begging Raymond with barely coherent words to put a bullet in his brain before he could hurt anyone.

No one had slept well after that. Amy had spent the rest of the night in the truck with Gina, who was on lookout, although really what were they going to be able to see coming through the pitch black darkness and unrelenting rain?

Gina braided her hair for her, and eventually she fell asleep. But today she just couldn’t shake the foul mood that had settled in the moment she woke.

All of this led to her and Holt clashing in a nasty way.

It had really started up when he suggested that they might divert their course.

“What?! Why? We’re so close.”

“To a house, that may or may not have people who can help and may or may not have the supplies we need. Kevin _needs _medical attention. Badly.”

Charles tried to pipe in, but Amy barreled over whatever it was he was going to say, stung by Holt’s unintentional implication that Jake may not be there when they arrived. “Sir, no one’s arguing with that, but I just don’t know what sort of medical attention you think we’ll find. It’s not like there are clinics we can just walk up to anymore.”

“Then we find somewhere to get the supplies we need! We need… we need real medicine, not these useless things.” Holt shook the bag of their remaining ibuprofen in emphasis.

“The places you are talking about are _literally _the most dangerous places on earth right now. You know that, Captain. Too many infected died at hospitals, and most pharmacies were picked dry ages ago.”

Holt outright glared at Amy, her protests the absolute last thing he wanted to hear. “My husband is going to _die _if we don’t do anything about it, Detective Santiago. I will not just sit by and let that happen.”

Amy felt for him, she really did; she intimately knew the feeling of being unable to protect her husband from this never-ending disaster. And beyond that, she too was worried about Kevin. But she just couldn’t hide the exasperation in her tone, couldn’t get a handle on her own complicated emotions as she countered, “I’m not saying you should, but it won’t do Kevin any good if we all get killed doing something stupid that we haven’t fully thought our way through.”

Gina cut in before Holt could reply again, literally inserting herself between the two before they ended up in a shouting match. “Stop, stop, stop. Let’s break this down. It doesn’t matter yet where we’re going if we have no way to actually get there, yeah?”

“Right…” Holt mused. Amy dropped into the loveseat, rubbing her temples as she muttered, “Of course. Stupid.”

Charles was on the same page as Gina. “We should focus first on finding a new vehicle that we can actually move Kevin in safely. Then we can revisit where we’re moving to.”

And so Amy soon found herself riding in the truck with Gina and Charles to search for a better car. They struck out in the opposite direction from where she and Charles had gone the previous day—they already knew there was nothing useful left in that particular area.

After an hour of searching failed to turn up anything, Charles pulled the truck off into a small parking lot and killed the engine. Gina opened the door and putting one foot on the seat, hoisted herself up to get a view of the surrounding area.

“Looks like there’s a little downtown area over that way,” she pointed.

Charles ran his fingers through his hair, which had grown quite shaggy in the past month or so. “Not sure that really buys us anything, unfortunately. Plus aren’t the roads all gummed up in that direction?”

“But also… that means cars, right?” Gina offered.

“Right…” Charles droned, thinking as he spoke. “But we would have to hoof it.”

Amy had remained silent up until this point, but now she added cautiously, “Maybe… maybe there’s something useful in the town… something that could help Kev.”

She didn’t miss the look shared between Gina and Charles; and she was just as aware as they were that her idea mostly came out of her guilt from earlier.

Finally Charles sighed, “We’re here anyway. It’s worth taking a look.”

So they left the truck parked and crept silently along until they reached the main drag. They stopped to assess the situation. Amy pulled her hat down further over her ears. The rain had finally ceased, leaving in its stead a frigid mist, and their breath hung in the air in front of them.

“There,” she whispered, pointing. A small storefront, its windows fogged over, with a sign above the door reading “Rx.” They hurried over, footsteps light, past a town hardware store and what looked like a clothing boutique.

Gina squinted at the windows. “I can’t see anything.”

Amy held up a finger and backtracked a few steps to peer around the corner of the building. In the small alleyway, beneath a metal fire escape, there was a back door. She waved to get Charles and Gina’s attention, then pointed at the back door. Gina shrugged and nodded toward the front door. Amy raised her hands in ambivalence—it wasn’t clear if one way would be better than the other. Gina leaned forward and, with the sleeve of her sweater, wiped a circle of the glass clear; she cupped her hands to her eyes and looked inside.

Nothing, and then a loud _thud _as something hit the other side of the glass. Gina reeled back and, momentarily off balance, one of her feet landed on a discarded water bottle. The plastic crumpled with a sharp crinkle.

In the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t that loud. But it was loud enough. The door to the pharmacy shuttered once and then burst open, releasing a flood of moaning bodies. Amy stumbled back a few steps, closer to the alley, while Charles grabbed Gina’s arm and yanked her the other direction, away from the door. He put himself between her and the creatures, pulled out his gun, and opened fire.

Amy had just started to do so as well when she heard the sound of glass shattering coming from the other direction. The hardware store, its window broken from the inside, now spilled forth even more zombies.

She was surrounded, separated from Charles and Gina by a crowd that vastly outnumbered the bullets they had left. There was nowhere to go but the alley. But as she sprinted down it, she was dismayed to find a dead end. So she turned back and, ignoring every instinct in her body that told her not to, ran full force at the creatures lumbering toward her. At the last moment, she leapt, grabbing hold of the bottom of the fire escape. It came crashing down with a squeal, and threw her off balance so that she nearly fell, but she managed to hold it together and scrambled up just in time to retract the ladder before the closest corpse could grab it.

She collapsed on the cold metal, panting, trying to get her breath under control. Over the sound of hoard, she caught the cries of her friends, “Amy! Amy, where are you?!”

She stood up and looked out. She could just barely make out their forms on the other side of the street as they tried to catch sight of her. Finally, Gina pointed her direction, and Charles bellowed something; but she couldn’t hear it, and the creatures nearby were now locked in on the sounds they were making. As the crowd moved to pursue them, Gina gave Charles a shove, and then they turned and ran. They were quickly out of sight.

Amy sat back down and curled in on herself protectively. She was alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise, it's more angst!


	6. Chapter 6

Hours passed before the herd began to drift away; the shadows were long by the time the alleyway was clear again.

Amy dropped down from the metal platform, landing softly on her feet, gun in hand, though really only for the sense of comfort it gave her. She only had three bullets left, and it would draw the crowd right back to her if she used it. She tiptoed to the edge of the alley and looked around the corner. Her left was clear, but on her right, in the direction she, Gina, and Charles had come from earlier and where Gina and Charles had run off, there was still a solid mass of bodies, moaning and wandering aimlessly about. It seemed that the horde had drifted in that direction, not so much dispersing as simply spreading out a little bit.

Returning to the truck wouldn’t be an option, at least not by the familiar way. Amy stuck her gun back in her belt, took a deep breath, and then set off to the left in as quiet of a run as she could manage.

A few stragglers noticed and turned to follow the sound and movement, but she quickly put a good amount of distance between her and them. She tried to find a way back to the truck, she really did, but after a few near misses with clumps of creatures who had broken off from the pack, she realized it was futile. So instead she tried to get her bearings and, to the best of her knowledge, aimed her path back towards the house.

Soon it was completely dark, but she had no choice but to keep going, no safe place to stop and wait for light. Once or twice she thought she was fully lost. Somehow she managed. She found a bike discarded by the road. One tire was almost completely flat, but it was still faster than walking and she was, at this point, far too exhausted to jog or run.

She lost all concept of time. Everything was dark and cold and fear. And then, like a miracle, the house appeared. Amy dropped the bike to the ground, not caring to store it in any proper fashion, and stumbled up the small set of stairs to the door.

It opened before she could even reach for it, revealing Holt’s fraught face. She made no effort to arrest her motion, instead barreling straight into the Captain’s arms. He didn’t hesitate to close the embrace.

“My god, Santiago, what the hell happened? It’s nearly 2 in the morning. Where are the others?” His words, divorced from the context, would have sounded like a scolding. But the way he said them—voice tight and distraught—bespoke the level of fear that would have begun when they didn’t return on time and then undoubtedly snowballed as hour after hour passed.

Amy couldn’t keep herself from bursting into tears, couldn’t get her mouth to form words to answer him. She felt Holt guide her gently over to the fire. He sat her down, wrapped a blanket around her, and waited with an arm around her shoulder until her shivering resided and her sobs gave way to sniffles as she explained what had happened.

Holt’s face was furrowed with sadness. “This is my fault.”

“What? No.”

“You would not have felt the need to take that risk had it not been for me.”

“No offense, sir, but that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” Amy retorted softly. Silence fell. She glanced around for the first time since coming in. Iggy slept on a makeshift bed of blankets in the corner, Cheddar curled up against her. She was impressed Holt had managed to get the toddler to sleep but also wondered whether it hadn’t been Cheddar who had really gotten the job done.

And then she turned her attention to Kevin. In the silence she could hear his breathing: regular, but too rapid, too weak, like little gasps rather than full breaths. He lay completely unmoving on his mattress; with the pallor of his skin, he looked less asleep than… well…

“How’s he doing?” she asked, an attempt to interrupt her own thoughts.

Holt shook his head; when he spoke, his words were choked, almost inaudible. “I cannot get him to wake up. Ran out of medicine anyway, so that hardly matters anymore, but I cannot get him to drink anything either.”

Amy hung her head, tears pricking at her eyes once more.

Holt reached out and ran a knuckle alongside his husband’s cheek. “I don’t think he’s…”

She couldn’t handle it. “Stop. Just stop it.”

Holt looked betrayed by her quiet outburst, and when he responded, a few tears slipped down his cheeks, “Amy, you cannot tell me you do not see what I see.”

“I—there’s just no reason to say it. To say that. We can figure something out… I’ll go back out tomorrow, and get the truck. Or find another car or…” She babbled on, until Holt grabbed her hand and gave it a squeeze.

“You need to get some rest. You have had a long day.”

She offered no protest, for once didn’t bother herself with thoughts about who would keep watch (Holt, maybe, though his watch was of his husband). As she settled into a pile of blankets, she vaguely noticed the deep pit of hunger in her stomach. But she couldn’t bring herself to care enough to do anything about it. Or to change out of her damp and dirty clothes. Or to do much of anything but lay down and wait to see if sleep would come or not.

She felt nothing but numbness.

* * *

_On what would end up being their last night together before they were separated, Amy and Jake had spent the night squeezed together on the couch in the break room._

_Sleep had proved evasive for both of them, and eventually Jake had let out a defeated sigh._

_Amy sat up slightly to look at his face. “What’s up, babe?”_

_He had turned his face into her shoulder, and muttered, “This couch smells like lactose intolerant farts.”_

_Amy had chuckled and run her fingers lightly through his hair. “Babe…”_

_“Fine,” he had relented. His tone grew more serious. “I can’t stop thinking about those reports. Of people getting bit and then killing themselves before they turn.”_

_“Oh…okayyyyy…” Amy had dropped back down so that she was staring at the ceiling, wondering where Jake was going with this._

_“I don’t think I could do that.”_

_Silence._

_“Amy?”_

_“Huh? I’m listening, babe, I just… I just don’t like thinking about this.”_

_“I don’t either. But at first I thought it made sense, like, not wanting to potentially eat your friends and stuff, but then I thought about it and… I don’t think I would be willing to give up those last few days.”_

_Amy had laced her fingers through Jake’s own, before asking, a little incredulously, “You mean those days in which you’d rapidly get sick and then die?”_

_“Yeah, I mean, but it would still be that many more days of living. If I knew I was about to die I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t give up any amount of time I had left with you.”_

_“Oh.” She had paused, to gather her thoughts. “Jake Peralta, are you trying to romance me during the zombie apocalypse?”_

_“No!” he had protested, sounding petulant. “But just to check, is it working?”_

_They had laughed together. But Amy knew that deep down, Jake was being sincere, so after a moment she added, “I get what you’re saying. But it won’t come to that.”_

_“We can’t know that it won’t.”_

_“We’ll do everything in our power to make sure it doesn’t.”_

_Another moment lapsed. Then Jake had muttered something Amy couldn’t quite make out._

_“Huh?”_

_“_It won’t come to that. _Title of your sex-tape.”_

_“Go to sleep, Jake.”_


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been writing really slowly lately, so here's a chapter that's actually just half of what I had intended to be the full final chapter.

The light coming through the windows was still dim when Amy was pulled from her sleep, with the distinct sense that _something _had woken her up, though she wasn’t immediately sure what. She sat up, and as she looked around blearily, the weight of the previous day hit her once more.

All was still; even Holt had passed out from exhaustion next to where Kevin still lay unconscious. She tried not to let her eyes linger on him; he looked even worse in the dawning light than he had the night before. She hadn’t believed such a thing would be possible. But then… there it was, the thing her sleeping brain had marked and roused her for. The sound of tires on dirt. She scrambled up and stumbled to the door, equilibrium not quite there yet, not even bothering to grab her gun. She shoved her feet into her shoes and then slipped out the door, closing it quickly behind her to keep the cold from overtaking the relative warmth of the inside.

It was bitterly cold this early in the morning. Amy hugged herself tightly, momentarily thinking about her coat that she left inside. But the thought was soon overtaken when she noticed the small grey SUV pulling up to the house.

Her apathy from the previous night (really earlier that same morning) hadn’t budged. Instead of alerting Holt or taking any sort of defensive measures on the off-chance that their positive track record with other humans was about to be ruined, she merely stood impassively and waited until the car stopped its progress and killed the engine.

The driver’s door opened. A leather boot hit the ground.

Amy stared, dumbfounded. “Rosa?!”

The two friends met in the middle in a crushing hug. “I’m _so _glad you’re okay,” Rosa murmured. After a moment, Amy took a small step back to look at her.

She looked… like Rosa always did, dressed in all black, although her hair was tied in a low ponytail and her right hand was bandaged for some reason. Finally, she spoke.

“I’m sorry, what’s happening…am I hallucinating?”

Rosa responded with a wry smile and then nodded toward the car. Two other figures had emerged. One was Gina, who was now rushing over to give Amy her own hug. The other was a man, who hung back a little bit. After a quick glance told her that he clearly wasn’t Jake—he wasn’t even anyone she _recognized_—Amy’s attention latched back on to what Gina was saying.

“—and Charles and I thought we were going to have to leave the truck, but then Charles recognized—“

Amy cut her off. “Jake. Rosa, where is Jake?”

Rosa put a hand on her shoulder. “He’s at the cabin. With Charles and the others. He’s fine. He told me to tell you he loves you if… when we found you.” Rosa paused. “That reminds me…” She walked back over to the car and fumbled around with something that looked like a radio for a minute.

Amy looked to Gina, confused. “She’s sending them a message,” Gina supplied.

“A message? What do we have long-range walkies or something?”

Gina shook her head. “Morse code.”

Rosa walked back over. “Ok, they know to stay put now.”

Amy was having an increasingly hard time keeping up. “Stay put?”

Gina explained, “Boyle and I didn’t know what happened to you, so we weren’t sure if you were still somewhere in that town. But we knew Kevin needs help real bad, so we figured we’d come here first, and if you _weren’t _here, we’d send a separate search for you.”

Rosa continued, “Jake wanted to come with us anyway, but there wasn’t going to be space in the car once we picked the rest of you up. I know the way to the cabin best, Gina knew the way to the house, and then our friend over here—“ Rosa nodded toward the unfamiliar man—“is kinda essential to the whole thing. He’s a doctor.”

On cue, the man stepped forward and raised his hand in an awkward wave. “Hi. I’m Anthony—Ant.” His voice had a slight lilt to it that Amy couldn’t place, possibly the whispers of a Caribbean accent. “I’m actually a pediatric resident,” he added.

“No one cares about that stuff anymore, bud,” Gina retorted, before looking to Amy. “Point is, this dude here knows medical stuff. Now”—Gina clapped her hands in emphasis, looking around at the others—“if you’ll excuse me, I am going to go make sure my _child _is okay.” She hurried into the house.

Ant hefted a bag over his shoulder. “Should I go in too?” he asked, directing the question equally to Rosa and Amy.

Amy nodded, and held out her arm toward the door. As they entered, they found Holt standing, dumbfounded, on the other side.

“Diaz? My goodness.” He and Rosa embraced, and then he added, “Who is this?”

Rosa’s response was terse, to the point. “Ant. He’s a doctor.” Ant opened his mouth, as if momentarily considering objecting to the not-quite-right label, before relenting and instead reaching out to shake Holt’s hand.

“I’m here to help your husband in any way I can.”

Holt’s expression was unreadable; he merely said, “Right this way,” and led Ant over to Kevin’s bed.

They all gathered nearby, Gina now holding a still-sleeping Iggy tight to her chest. Rosa was already sitting with her back to the fire, staring intently at Kevin, undoubtedly disturbed by his poor condition. Even Cheddar trotted over and settled patiently next to Kevin’s feet.

Ant dropped his bag to the ground and squatted down. “Gina filled me in on the way over,” he said, mostly directing his comment to Holt and Amy. “Has anything new happened in the past… I don’t know, what would it be, like eighteen hours?”

Holt and Amy shared a look, and then Holt responded, “I have not been able to get him to wake for quite some time now.”

“Hmm.” Ant hummed in response. “When he’s conscious, has he been—is he coherent?”

“Not really, no. Not for a while now.”

“When was the last time he was totally lucid?”

“Oh, um, a day and a half or so. At least.”

Ant nodded, and then began to rummage around in his bag. “I’m just going to check a bunch of things here, see if I can’t figure out what’s going on.”

While Ant worked—checking vitals, shining lights in Kevin’s eyes, inspecting the wound, periodically asking Holt other questions—Gina quietly filled Amy in on what had happened after their ill-fated visit to the town.

She and Charles had made it back to the car and tried their best to find a way to get back to Amy. But the road had flooded with even more creatures, and soon they found themselves not only unable to reach Amy, but also hopelessly loss. They’d tried for hours to find their way to somewhere familiar, until, miraculously, Charles had recognized a beat-up corner store—from when he and Rosa had accompanied Jake’s mom, Genevieve, and Nikolaj up to the cabin all those weeks ago. They’d set their course for the cabin and, somehow, found themselves pulling up to their long-awaited destination a little after midnight.

As Gina told it, Rosa had nearly shot them when they’d gotten out of the truck, shouting their excitement and their concern for Amy and for Kevin. The others had immediately dragged themselves out of bed and planned a rescue mission—at which point the difficult decision was made that Jake wasn’t going to be in the first group to go out. He had been about as mad as Gina had ever seen him about this decision, but Rosa had remained stoic and stern, reminding him that he would be on hand for if they needed a separate operation to get Amy and that it wasn’t wise to have him and Charles set out simultaneously, to leave the cabin basically undefended if not absolutely necessary.

Charles, for his part, had been clearly relieved not to have to leave Genevieve and Nikolaj again so soon.

“But,” Gina finished, giving Amy an unusually candid, almost sweet, smile, “he’s there waiting for you, girl. I saw him with my own two eyes. Same Jake as always.”

The thought warmed Amy, and for a moment she forgot about everything but how close she was to seeing Jake again. But then Ant sat back on his heels and started talking, and she was brought firmly back to the present.

“Ok I want to be clear that what I’m about to say basically amounts to educated guesswork given the constraints of”—Ant gestured broadly to their surroundings—“of all of this.” 

“Anything you can tell us is so much more than we already know,” Amy encouraged.

Holt added, sincerely, “Please.”

“Alright,” Ant began. “I’ll start with the good news.” He gestured towards Kevin’s leg. “This is not the worst possible infection of a wound like this. It’s not gangrenous, and he doesn’t seem to have blood poisoning. Without any sort of testing facilities I can’t determine exactly what sort of infection it is, but… no field amputations for us. And that’s good news.”

“That being said, whatever it is, is still serious enough that under ideal circumstances he’d be spending some quality time in a hospital to get it under control. And then you add onto that the fact that, like all of us, he was a bit undernourished and probably overtired and that just makes it difficult for the body to deal with anything. And that’s the bad news, really.”

“I’m not tracking,” Gina interjected. “What’s the bad news? Just that it’s the zombie apocalypse?”

Ant shrugged. “More that it’s what allowed this infection to take such serious hold on him in such a short time. It’s why he’s in such bad shape.”

Holt rubbed a hand over his face. “Is that why he will not wake, Doctor?”

Ant scrunched up his face, and then sighed. “I’m actually not completely sure. It could be the infection and the fever—his body may be trying to conserve energy. But he also is showing some signs of hypovolemia at this point, so it could be that.”

Amy struggled to process all the new information. “I didn’t think he lost _that_ much blood. He seemed okay… or not so bad, right after it happened.”

“Right, but given that he lost a decent amount of blood and then fairly soon after started running a huge fever and was losing any fluids he took in… I’m guessing at this point his blood volume is significantly lower than normal.”

“Damn,” Amy muttered.

Ant continued. “I don’t know which of those things is the major problem here, and there could also be something else going on I’m just not able to catch. But barring that third possibility, it kinda doesn’t matter what the main problem is because there are things we can do to treat both.”

“And that will help him?” Holt asked.

Ant looked Holt square in the eye as he talked, knowing the full weight of what he was saying. “I honestly don’t know. All I can say for sure is that if he gets…if his condition continues to deteriorate, it will be in spite of, rather than due to, any treatment.”

Holt gave a solemn nod. “I appreciate your candor, Doctor.”

Ant reached into his bag and drew out a handful of syringes, talking again as he did. “So I have… well I’ve got a couple things here, but I’m going to go with just a broad spectrum antibiotic first, to see if that’ll help get a handle on that leg and then…” He pulled out a cylindrical container, before setting it to the side. “I brought some pedialyte mix just in case it would be useful, but that’s no help unless we get him awake.” He paused and looked at Amy. “Though honestly I mostly brought it with me because your husband wouldn’t stop eating the powder. Just by itself. Wildest thing I’ve ever seen. Called it post-apocalyptic pixie-sticks.”

Caught completely off-guard by this anecdote, Amy couldn’t contain the slightly hysterical giggles that escaped her mouth. They felt inappropriate given the sorry state of their companion… but also it was _so _Jake. “I’m guessing it’s been rough on him to not have access to gummy worms whenever he wants them…” she responded.

Ant gave her a warm smile, and then continued with his task. Somehow he already seemed remarkably capable of reading Holt, which was no small feat, because he added, even as Holt opened his mouth to voice a concern, “But I have an IV kit so it’s no problem.”

Holt’s mouth snapped back shut, and he offered Ant an incredulous look. “That is… terribly fortuitous,” he finally blurted out.

“So Ant…” Amy dragged his name out a little, trying to find the right way to put it. “What… I guess, like… what’s your deal?” Ant paused what he was doing and threw his head back in laughter. Amy quickly clarified. “I mean… Where did Rosa find you?”

“Well…” He talked as he looked for a good vein in Kevin’s arm (undoubtedly a bit difficult given Kevin’s dehydrated state). “When things took a really bad turn about…oh, I don’t know, three, four weeks ago now? I grabbed all the supplies I could from the doctor’s office where I’ve been.. or was… doing my residency before it closed down. My girlfriend and I didn’t have any family in the area, so we were headed for Vermont to meet up with one of my med school buddies. And on the way, since we had all this stuff with us, we kinda became, I don’t know, field medics whenever we ran into people that needed help.”

Holt cut in when Ant paused to check the placement of the IV catheter. “Your girlfriend is also a medical practitioner?”

“No, no, Mae is a… well, she worked at a bookstore, but she was just finishing her MSW.”

“Social work is a fine profession.”

“Yep, and she loves it. But… anyway, we got ourselves in quite a pinch one day and it looked like that was gonna be it for us, but then”—nodding to Rosa—"this badass and the others swooped in and saved us. And then we’ve just stuck with them since.”

“That’s incredible,” Amy breathed out.

Ant smiled. “Yeah, we are super thankful that Jake, Rosa, and Mrs. Diaz were nearby that day.”

“Do you think you’ll ever go the rest of the way to Vermont?” Gina asked.

“Well…” Ant began to explain their thinking on the matter, but Amy was distracted by… something. A nagging thought, a feeling that something wasn’t quite right. And then Ant’s words, _Jake, Rosa, and Mrs. Diaz_, hit home and Holt seemed to put it together at the exact same time Amy did, because they turned to Rosa almost in unison.

“Oh, Rosa.” Amy murmured. Rosa avoided their gaze, eyes cast pointedly at some dirt stuck to the toe of her boot. Amy and Holt both opened their mouths, to say something, anything, but Rosa cut them off, firmly and quietly, voice subtly layered with rage and grief.

“Don’t. Not right now.”

Out of respect for her friend, Amy turned her attention away, instead focusing intently on a loose string on the hem of her sleeve, lost in thought as other voices continued to drone on in the background. Despite all the danger they had faced, and all the uncertainty that surrounded the whereabouts of her loved ones who weren’t here or at the cabin, until this point the threat of losing someone had been a bit abstract. Real, of course, and haunting, but still more like a vague concept than like something that her mind could really grasp, even after all they had seen. But Rosa’s dad… _what had happened in Manhattan? _She wondered. _Or had it been further down the road?_

The sound of scuffling movement around her brought her back to the present. She looked up to find Ant packing his bag back up and Holt gingerly holding the IV bag that was now attached to Kevin. Catching Amy’s gaze, Holt tilted his head slightly toward where Gina and Rosa were now moving about the house.

“Time to pack up, Santiago. Then we can move.”

They moved quickly. They didn’t have much stuff, so soon the little house, their unintended home base for so long, lay empty. They folded down the back seats and made what they all hoped was a comfortable nest for Kevin (if it wasn’t, he wasn’t able to tell them at the moment anyway). Amy attached the IV bag to one of the ceiling handgrips using a knot Kevin had taught her. Then they all squeezed in: Rosa at the wheel; Ant, Holt, and Cheddar in the back keeping watch over Kevin; and Amy stuffed in the front with Gina and a very squirmy Iggy. It was hardly traveling in luxury, but it was safe and dry and warm and for the first time they were _actually_ heading in the right direction. Amy, Holt, and Kevin would finally make it to the cabin; and as a group, they would finally be together once more.

And she was going to see Jake again.


	8. Chapter 8

The ride was calm and nearly uneventful. The one exception was when they turned the corner to find a small band of creatures blocking the road.

Rosa threw the car into park, but kept it idling as she reached down to grab something from the footwell and then slipped out, calling back, “I got this,” as she marched towards them. Amy didn’t even have a chance to protest before Rosa had driven her tool—a pick-axe, she could now see—into the skulls of all three of the zombies. She was back in the driver’s seat in less than a minute.

“Three less of those things in the world now,” she muttered as she put the car back into gear.

“I’ve missed you _so _much,” was all Amy could muster in response.

Amy spent the rest of the ride trying to tolerate the growing ball of anticipation that had settled in her stomach. She was so caught up in her thoughts—in her nervous energy, in trying to picture what their reunion would be like—that she was completely caught off guard when Rosa took a turn off the main road and brought the car slowly up what appeared to be a long driveway.

“Wait…” she asked, confused. “Are we…?”

Gina nodded. “Yep, this is it.”

As excited as Amy was—and her excitement couldn’t be overstated, really—for a moment she was overcome by a blind rage.

“You’re telling me, this _whole _time we were, what, only about six hours away?”

She wasn’t the only one taken aback by this revelation. “Dear lord…” Holt groaned, cradling his head in one hand. How much pain and heartbreak could they have avoided if they had known? If Kevin had received medical attention day one, instead of at what seemed to have been the last possible moment?

Rosa gave an ambivalent shrug. “You had no way of knowing. It’s only six hours if you take the right roads, otherwise it’s much, much longer.”

“Yeah but… that’s _so _frustrating,” Amy groaned. Gina gave her a conciliatory pat on the shoulder but didn’t have any useful words to offer.

They rounded a bend in the driveway, which had switched from paved road to dirt and gravel. There in front of them stood the cabin. And standing on the front porch, whole body bobbing with nervous energy, was Jake.

Every from this distance, Amy saw his face light up at the sight of the approaching vehicle. He called something over his shoulder, towards the front door, before bounding down the steps.

Amy was moving before Rosa had even stopped the car, scrambling to extricate herself from where she had fit herself in order to give both her and Gina the most comfortable ride possible given the lack of space. She mostly got free, but her left foot got caught in the bottom of the seatbelt. So it was less of a leap out of the car than it was an uncontrolled tumble.

And if this had been a rom-com, Jake would have caught her just as she fell. But it wasn’t, and he didn’t, but he was right there a moment later, choosing not to pick her up but instead dropping to the ground with her and wrapping himself fully around her.

They stayed there, wordless, for several moment. Amy’s tears fell unimpeded onto Jake’s shoulder, and she could tell by the way his whole body trembled that he too was crying. He felt so warm and solid and real and she could have stayed there, on that cold ground, forever.

Eventually Jake gave a loud sniff and shifted a little so that he was looking at her.

He simply said, “Hi.”

It was such an understated greeting. And it was perfect. “Hi there,” she responded, wiping her wetted cheeks with the back of her hand.

It was then that she first got a good look at him. He looked every bit as haggard and worn-down as Amy herself felt, and his blue zip-up hoodie was in miserable shape (though it at least looked relatively clean, likely thanks to one Karen Peralta). She wondered what exactly had brought him to that place—if it was stress over not knowing where she was, or the after-effects of a tough journey to the cabin, or an indication that food would continue to be scarce even here. But in a way it didn’t really matter. She was here, their respective journeys were finally over, and she had full faith that together they’d be able to make do with whatever they had.

“How about…” Jake spoke softly, tucking a lock of loose hair behind her ear as he did. “How about we never, ever let each other out of our sight ever again? How’s that sound?”

“I like that. I think that’s a great idea.” Jake chuckled and touched his forehead to hers.

“But really… are you okay, Ames?

She glanced towards the back of the car, where the others were preparing to move Kevin into the cabin. Jake craned his neck to try to get a better look, but quickly gave up and returned his gaze to Amy, eyes wide in expectation.

“I am now. I really am.”

“Good. Then so am I.”

* * *

Charles nearly cried at the sight of Jake and Amy together. Karen did cry, and Jake pretended to be embarrassed at how long she held Amy in a hug, but Amy knew he was really delighted to finally have the people he cared about the most under one roof.

They settled Kevin in a room on the first floor of the—surprisingly roomy—cabin. Jake audibly gasped when he finally got a good look at Kevin.

He shot Holt an apologetic look. “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t… it’s just, Charles told me but…” He was at a loss for words.

Holt’s response was impossibly gracious. He laid a hand on Jake’s shoulder. “I am grateful that Kevin is finally receiving informed care, and that we have come this far.”

Ant, who had been tending to Kevin since they had gotten him inside, took this opportunity to give them an update. “He’s no worse than before.”

“That is wonderful news,” Holt responded, tone not at all matching his words.

Jake looked horribly confused, so Amy added, “He’s been on a downward trajectory since… basically since this whole thing started, so in a way, not down is almost as good as up.”

Ant nodded in agreement. “A little stability is a solid first step.”

Jake was horrified by the new context this provided. “Jesus Christ… I’m so sorry this has happened.”

There wasn’t much else to say or do there. It was a waiting game at this point; and beside that, Amy was exhausted. So Jake showed Amy to the room he was sharing with his mom. It only had two twin beds, one of which was Karen’s, but that was a problem for another time. Jake gave her a thermal shirt and a pair of his sweatpants for her to change into, and they squeezed together on the tiny bed. They wouldn’t have wanted more space between them even if it had been available.

* * *

Rosa’s cabin was spacious, but spartan. “Rustic” would be an understatement. What it lacked in charm, however, it made up for in running water, a working wood stove that pumped heat throughout the house, an ample number of blankets, and an astonishingly well-stocked cellar.

Beyond that, it was safe. Rosa explained that on three sides there was nothing but mountains and miles and miles of unpopulated territory, meaning it was highly unlikely that anything would wander in and happen upon them. Running along the base of the mountain was a creek—one so fast moving, Rosa claimed, that it was really more like a river and more importantly, it didn’t tend to freeze over in the winter. With the creek on one side, and the mountains on the others, the only real way to get to the cabin was to cross the solitary bridge that linked the long, winding driveway to the small highway leading to the area.

“So we really only need to worry about defending that bridge,” she finished. “I’ve got some stuff I can rig into a gate system out back.”

“What, were you anticipating something like this happening?”

“I wasn’t wrong, was I?”

“Guess not,” Amy admitted. She doubted she’d ever really feel safe anywhere again—or at least, not for a very long time. But this was a suitable approximation, and it was comforting to have so many people around—more than a dozen under one roof—to share the work of survival.

Mae, it turned out, was as easy an addition to the group as Ant was. (“You’re going to like her a lot, babe,” Jake had said. “She worked in a book store.”) She was laid-back and practical, and Amy immediately warmed to her when she produced a leather-bound notebook and explained that she was keeping an account of everything that was happening.

“Who knows, maybe someday in the future, when this is all over, people will want to know what went down?”

Charles was delighted at the presence of actual food supplies, and threw himself whole hog into being the cabin’s chef. (At one point, Genevieve halfheartedly scolded him for not letting Nikolaj out of his sight; if the boy minded the helicopter parenting, he gave no indication.)

Karen spent most of her time with Mrs. Diaz, who remained rather withdrawn, for obvious reasons; they spent full days together at the kitchen table, playing parallel games of solitaire in silence.

Amy still didn’t have a clear picture of what had happened on Jake and Rosa’s journey, though they, at this point, knew fully the details of her own. Jake didn’t seem ready to really talk about it, and she wasn’t going to push him. She did manage to glean some details here and there. They had made it to the cabin about two weeks before the others. Whatever had happened in Manhattan—and this is what Amy found Jake and Rosa most reluctant to talk about—had made it so that they had no choice but to set out for the cabin basically the night the group had separated. That head start, coupled with a more direct line without having to go around Manhattan and, frankly, a bit of better luck, had made their journey far more efficient.

Then there was the issue of Kevin.

Ant only had two bags of IV fluid, including the one he had started back at the house. Luckily, partway through the second bag, Kevin had roused enough to drink a little bit of pedialyte before nodding off once more. Ant rationed the remainder of the bag as much as possible, reconnecting it to the line whenever the periods between Kevin’s brief waking moments—during which time they coaxed as much fluid in him as they safely could—stretched longer than a couple hours. Ant thought that he maybe could figure out a way to mix some more IV solution if it was desperately needed; but doing so without a perfectly sterile environment would bear some risk of a not perfectly sterile solution—something Kevin was in no state to handle.

In due time, the bag ran out. Ant was simultaneously frustrated by their lack of resources (“He’d improve so much faster in a hospital setting.”) and encouraging about the progress Kevin was making (“But,” he had quickly added, “I think he’s over the hump, and we can manage from here on out with oral rehydration.”).

Even though they could now reliably wake him enough to get him to drink when Ant said he should, Kevin didn’t _really _wake until the start of their second full day at the cabin.

When he did, it was still early. Rosa had finally shooed Holt into one of the upstairs beds late the night before, after he had admitted to getting less than five hours of sleep since arriving. Even if there was nothing to be done, he simply couldn’t relax when in the same room with Kevin. “I feel as though if I stop watching him, something may happen.”

Gina had volunteered to stay downstairs with Kevin for the night, leaving Iggy to sleep with her Auntie Rosa, and Jake and Amy had risen early to relieve her. But they had gotten caught up in quiet conversation, and twenty minutes later, Gina still hadn’t left.

And that’s how, when Kevin finally came around, it was not to the face of his husband, but to the sound of Jake snorting at something Gina said, and Amy hissing “You’re being _so _loud, babe,” while laughing along.

“Oh!” Amy’s laughter promptly cut off when she, unexpectedly, met Kevin’s open eyes with her own. And he seemed to really be _looking _at her. Jake and Gina whipped around, and watched him, uncertain of what was about to happen.

“Kev?” Gina prompted, tentatively, also sensing that something different was happening this time. “You with us?”

Kevin opened his mouth as if to respond, but then grimaced and licked his lips. The others sprang into action. Jake propped him up the way Ant had taught them, and Gina held a cup to his lips and helped him drink. Kevin did so without protest, but as he drank, Amy saw his eyes carefully scan the room. At this point she knew for sure—this wasn’t a sickly daze, it was the justifiable confusion of finding oneself in a strange location, with no memory of getting there.

“That’s probably good for now,” she reminded Gina after a moment. She put the cup back on the side table and they all stared at Kevin, eager for him to say something.

When he finally did, his voice was soft, raspy from disuse and a bit breathy. “This is… we are in the cabin?”

“Sure are. We’re all here!” Jake responded, his chipper tone sounding a _little _too forced.

Kevin’s next question was a single word. “Raymond?”

“—is asleep upstairs.” Gina finished, transforming his plea into an assurance, before hopping up. “I’ll go get him. And Ant.” She hurried out.

Kevin looked bewildered. And beyond that he still looked exhausted—dark circles under his eyes, his whole face quite gaunt, hair a complete mess.

Amy was afraid he would get frustrated or overwhelmed, so she grabbed his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Ant is a doctor who came here with Rosa and Jake. He’s been treating you.”

Kevin nodded, sinking a little deeper into his pillows at that news. He reached weakly toward the cup Gina had put down earlier; his arm was visibly shaking. Amy grabbed the cup before he could knock it over.

“I can help you with that."

Kevin cast a disappointed scowl toward his shaking hand before nodding. This time when he drank, he pulled a face.

“What is—is this juice?”

“Pedialyte.”

“Tastes like something… you would drink, Peralta.”

A grin bloomed on Jake’s face at Kevin’s frail ribbing. “Love that stuff. You should try it as a powder, it’s …” Jake did a chef’s kiss rather than completing his thought.

Amy rolled her eyes, but Jake’s antics had brought the ghost of a smile onto Kevin’s wan face. “How are you feeling, Kev?”

Kevin took stock, before responding, carefully, “Not… not optimal, but bearable… Tired.” He shifted slightly in his bed, and added, “Leg hurts.”

“We can talk to Ant about giving you something for that now that you’re awake,” Amy offered.

Kevin’s brow furrowed, a thought crossing his mind. “How long?”

Jake looked to Amy expectantly while she worked it out in her head. “I think… it’s been about a week since you first got sick. And we got to the cabin about two days ago.”

Kevin sat with this information for a moment. “Have I been…?”

He couldn’t seem to come up with the end of this sentence, so Amy just took a stab at it. “You’ve been… conscious, I guess, is the best word for it… several times over the last day and a half or so, but you were never, like, super with it.”

Kevin looked mildly uncomfortable with this information. “That is… bizarre…I do not remember.”

Jake leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms backwards, a display of pure casualness, as he said, “Yeah, well, you didn’t say anything interesting or fun, not once, and the others wouldn’t let me ask you questions, so… guess I’ll have to just get dirt on you some other way.” Jake’s words worked; Kevin noticeably relaxed, at least until Jake added, “Though how did we go through the whole safe house thing without you telling me you were a _boy scout, _oh my god, I can just picture you as a kid in that outfit.”

Before Kevin was forced to come up with some response to that, a flurry of noise and motion announced Holt’s arrival into the room. His eyebrows arched ever so slightly as he caught sight of Kevin, awake and coherent, before he marched swiftly to the bed and pulled his husband into his embrace. He closed his eyes and let out a deep breath.

Kevin, still not grasping the full extent of what had passed, gingerly raised one of his arms and patted Raymond softly on the lower back.

Amy felt the need to avert her eyes, and as she glanced away she caught Jake doing the same thing. Even Ant, who had at that moment strode into the room, let out a comical, “Oops! Private moment,” and then slipped to the most inconspicuous corner of the room he could find.

Amy was torn between wanting to leave, to give them some privacy, and wanting to hear what Ant had to say. Luckily, Raymond soon leaned back some, and gestured for Ant to come over.

“This is good, right?” he asked, voice a little nervous.

Ant smiled broadly. “Very good.” He turned to Kevin. “Hi Kevin, I’m Ant. I’m just gonna check on some things real quick. You tell me if anything’s hurting you, alright?”

Kevin nodded placidly. As Ant examined him, Jake shot the Captain an exaggerated double-thumbs up. Holt couldn’t help but grin in response and for someone usually so reserved in his expressions, it looked almost silly.

Ant looked pleased with what he was finding. “All good things. We’re gonna stay the course here with our hydration plan and antibiotics for the leg. Maybe try some food tomorrow, depending on how things go, but let’s not rush that.”

“In the meantime,” Ant finished, turning to his patient, “all the rest and all the fluids you can possibly get.”

“That…can be managed,” Kevin responded.

Ant made to leave, and it was clear that now was the time to leave the two husbands alone.

Jake leapt up from his seat. “When you’re up for it, Kev, we can marathon the old Nic Cage faves. Pretty sure they have healing properties.” He waggled his eyebrows and then walked out of the room before anyone had time to object.

Kevin looked stricken.

“He’s messing with you,” Amy assured him under her breath as she stood to follow. “There’s no TV here.”

“Ah. Good.”

She could see that Kevin’s eyelids were already getting heavy again, and felt a slight pang of guilt that so much of his precious energy had been wasted on her and Jake instead of his husband.

But before she could leave, Kevin spoke once more.

“I am… glad to see him well.”

Amy blushed a little. “You and me both.” She paused, recalling their conversation so many weeks ago, that last night as his and Holt’s house. “I guess you were right.”

Kevin looked… almost smug. “Guess so.”

She had nothing left to say, other than, “It’s so nice to see you awake again. Rest well.”

She closed the door behind her, and went to find her husband.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


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